We Need to Talk About Nataliya Kuznetsova

Nataliya Kuznetsova 4

This is a real human being. Seriously.

By now, you should be familiar with Nataliya Kuznetsova.

Nataliya is the kind of woman that even the most wildly imaginative female muscle fan will admit – if they’re pressed into being realistic for a hot minute – can’t ever really exist.

No woman, even with the help of all the synthetic steroids, supplements, food, weightlifting equipment, and expertise possibly available, can ever actually look like that. Whether you’ve been a bona fide female muscle fan for 40 years or 40 days, you’ve seen your fair share of muscular women. Perhaps even in-person. Yet, the rational part of your brain understands full well that no woman can ever look like her. No woman can ever have arms the size of a Mr. Olympia contestant. Or legs so thick that they resemble actual tree trunks. That’s not physically possible. It’s not scientifically possible. It’s even too absurd to draw a cartoon that looks like that.

Uh, right?

Well, you would be wrong. There is in fact one particular woman who walks on planet Earth – or is it continuously squats and bicep curls on planet Earth? – who defies your expectations of what a female bodybuilder can and cannot look like. She challenges what you previously thought was the limits of human achievement. Sure, guys who take drugs and work out like a madman with his hair on fire can become that huge. But…a woman?

No way! No how! That ain’t right!!!

Yet, it is so right. And it is possible. Her name is Nataliya Kuznetsova.

Nataliya was born on July 1, 1991 in the city of Chita, Zabaykalsky Krai in Russia. She was born just a few months before the Soviet Union officially dissolved; and although the Iron Curtain had fallen, a child had been born who would take her iron pumping quite seriously (did you see what I did there?). She has won many accolades in her life, including being the bench press and deadlift world champion. She’s also a champion armlifter, which should come as no surprise to anyone who’s ever seen her arms.

She aspired to become a professional bodybuilder at age 14 and never looked back. In addition to breaking several records, she’s dabbled in the field of coaching and personal training – which is not uncommon for many bodybuilders, both male and female. She’s maintained a strict diet since the early days of her career, which has clearly paid dividends. After graduating from the Moscow State Academy of Physical Culture in 2013, Nataliya proceeded to pursue her dream of shattering several powerlifting records.

And put her name in the record books is exactly what she did. In 2014 and 2015 she won various contests in Russia and Europe. While it doesn’t appear that she continues to compete in powerlifting, she’s since gained international notoriety for her unusual eye-popping physique that she proudly promotes on her social media channels.

Oh boy. And she’s also not shy about her usage of anabolic steroids and estrogen blockers. I mean, it’s not humanly possible to get as huge as her without drugs. We all know that. But in her case, it isn’t really about whether or not she “fairly” achieved her musculature. What really matters is that she looks exactly how she looks – and that’s the way she wants it.

Her brand is dependent upon the final result, not the process it took to get to that final result.

Nataliya Kuznetsova 1

Muscles on the beach.

Nataliya is the Ultimate Real Human Photoshop Illusion. You’d swear that she’s not actually real. She must be the product of a female muscle growth fiction artist’s imagination. Someone must’ve artificially enhanced her arms and legs. Or, someone superimposed a male bodybuilder’s arms onto her torso, like a G.I. Joe action figure’s arms being popped inside a limbless Barbie doll.

Yet, that is not the case. She is not a character in an FMG story. Nor are photos of her not genuine (to be fair, very few Instagram and magazine photos are 100% genuine) in the proper sense of the word. Her biceps are really the size of most guys’ quads. Her quads are really as thick as your girlfriend’s torso. It’s all true. It’s definitely not all natural, but if we’re only interested in aesthetics, who cares?

And that’s the crux of the argument. Whether she could ever achieve so much muscle mass naturally – the short answer is “no way, José” – is not the point. Insecure guys who constantly insist that she’s “juicing” or “roiding up” are just projecting their own inadequacies onto a complete stranger. They’re envious that they are unable to get that “swole,” so they need to add as many caveats as possible onto Nataliya’s achievements because it, uh, makes them feel better. Or something like that. I don’t know exactly.

But that’s not really where I’m getting at. Nataliya is noteworthy because she is who she is. Whether she “cheated” or did it through unnatural means isn’t what’s truly important. What’s important is that she’s a human cartoon in the flesh. She’s a female muscle fan’s dream come true, if extreme FMG artwork happens to be your thing. It’s not for me personally, but it doesn’t have to be. I can acknowledge her importance without being totally smitten with her looks.

Personally, Nataliya is a bit too much. Everything about her is superhuman, including her lips. Dang. She makes Angelina Jolie look like the before-and-after photo at a lip enhancement surgeon’s office. I tend to prefer ladies who are both large and traditionally curvy. Alina Popa is my jam. So is Isabelle Turell. And Shannon Courtney. And Theresa Ivancik. And Lindsay Mulinazzi. And many others. I have nothing against Miss Kuznetsova as a human being. I’m sure she’s cool and pretty interesting to be around. Apparently, she’s bisexual – which will make any FMG artist go hog wild when crafting erotically-charged dime novel-style fan fiction.

Perhaps this is a reflection of my limited imagination. Is Nataliya’s physique now the new Mount Everest? Are former Ms. Olympia contestants like Iris Kyle, Tina Chandler, Debi Laszewski, Anne Freitas, and Yaxeni Oriquen-Garcia merely the tip of the iceberg? Previously, we may have thought of these ladies as being at the peak of the female muscle pecking order. But maybe our standards were set too low. Maybe women like Nataliya Kuznetsova (are there any others like her? Asking for a friend) are where the proverbial bar is now set. Or should be set. It’s not enough to train for a few hours, give yourself a couple of rest days, and intersperse within your daily routine plenty of Tupperware containers full of brown rice, grilled chicken, and boiled broccoli. Perhaps the new normal should be to train for several hours a day – as if it’s practically a part-time job – and eat as much protein as you possibly can without throwing up. This doesn’t sound particularly appealing, but one must suffer for one’s art.

Nataliya Kuznetsova 2

Nataliya’s quads don’t lie.

Hm. Maybe that’s exactly the point. One must suffer for your art. In Nataliya’s case, her body is her art. Her muscles are her canvas. Dumbbells, vitamin supplements, anabolic steroids, and protein are her paintbrushes. And her Instagram feed is her museum. And we are patrons of her art. Instead of sipping champagne, we down a carton of Muscle Milk. Same thing.

All bodybuilders are artists as well as athletes. They might consider themselves athletes first and foremost, and that would be their prerogative. But whether they consciously consider it or not, they’re also artists. Michelangelo used marble. Nataliya uses her own flesh and blood. That sounds odd, but it’s true. Bodybuilders don’t try to hit a baseball into the centerfield bleachers or dunk a basketball over a 7-foot tall defender. They try to look awesome, prioritizing muscle mass, symmetry, and aesthetic perfection over all else.

Yet, I’m perfectly fine with Nataliya being the exception and not the rule. She can be an Internet sensation who makes our eyes pop out of our skulls. She can be someone who essentially provides fodder for clickbait articles on second-rate news aggregate sites. I highly doubt female muscle fans worldwide are clamoring for more women to look like her. If more do choose to look as extreme as possible, so be it. But we’re perfectly content with more “conventional-looking” female bodybuilders (as contradictory as that may sound) such as Miss Popa and Miss Ivancik. At least, they’re conventional within the context of the world of female bodybuilding.

Here’s a question: Is Nataliya Kuznetsova good or bad for female bodybuilding and fans of female bodybuilders? It’s the question sports commentators always make regarding dynasties like the Golden State Warriors, New England Patriots, the UConn women’s basketball team, Alabama football, Manchester United, or the Marvel Cinematic Universe (ha ha). Is dominance a good thing? Can the lack of parity hurt the overall product? Or does it enhance it? Is temporary dominance – because dominance rarely lasts forever – actually a good thing because it provides an incentive for others to work harder in order to catch up?

Chances are she’s not going to have much of an effect on anything. Nataliya exists in her own little universe. She’s carved out her own unique niche. She doesn’t really exist in the realm of bodybuilding because she isn’t a competitive bodybuilder (to my knowledge). She’s a mini-celebrity whose body is her selling point. Her extreme physique is why she’s famous, not because she climbed up the industry ladder or won so many accolades that we cannot help but notice her. In a way, she’s the perfect example of how the entrepreneurial female bodybuilder is most likely the archetype that will survive the longest.

Nataliya Kuznetsova 5

Ever seen someone like this at the gym? Yeah, didn’t think so.

The bodybuilding industry’s marginalization of female competitors doesn’t need to be rehashed here. The death of the Ms. Olympia is really all you need to know. Wings of Strength is doing their best to resuscitate the spirit of the Ms. O, and we wish them all the best in this endeavor. Long story short, female bodybuilders need to find alternative avenues of earning an income in order to continue doing what they love to do.

Nataliya has done exactly that.

She’s found a void and filled it perfectly. Impeccably. She busted her tail to look as hypermuscular as possible. She knew not everyone would dig her look, but that didn’t matter one iota. There are plenty of people who will. And do. She’s made sacrifices – including long-term risks to her body – to achieve her Human Photoshop figure. She was able to go “viral” because she stood out from the rest of the herd. There are plenty of muscular women out there. But few are as surreal in their musculature as her.

So because of that, she was able to break through in front of more “mainstream” eyes because of her freakish physique. Cindy Landolt or Minna Pajulahti are famous within the small community of female muscle fans, but Nataliya has been able to rise above that and attraction attention from non-female muscle fans. And chances are pretty good that for many people, Nataliya is the only muscular woman whom they care to follow on social media. She’s “famous” – in a 21st century viral Internet meme sense – for being a living and breathing statistical outlier, not because she happens to be a female bodybuilder who’s broken the mold of her predecessors and peers.

And that’s the meat and potatoes of our discussion. Miss Kuznetsova is nothing more than a freakish statistical outlier to the vast majority of Internet-savvy people out there. She won’t help the visibility of the female bodybuilding industry. She won’t hurt it either, but that’s beside the point. She’s a Human Island. A once-in-a-lifetime Black Swan Event. She’s like the people who love to follow Tiger Woods but couldn’t care less about other golfers.

There are golf fans. And there are Tiger Woods fans. And they are often not one and the same. Likewise, there are Nataliya Kuznetsova fans. And there are female muscle fans. And they are not necessarily the same thing.

Nataliya Kuznetsova 3

Can’t tell if those are her quads…or an actual tree trunk.

Some people love Eminem but don’t particularly like hip hop. Some people loved “The Dark Knight” but never read a single Batman comic book. And some people are enamored with Nataliya Kuznetsova but couldn’t identify Alina Popa in a police lineup.

Life is funny like that.

Whether you love her, hate her, or have neutral feelings about her, one thing is certain: You’re totally justified to initially think that this woman couldn’t possibly exist. This has got to be like “Simone,” that 2002 Al Pacino movie about a movie star who’s digitally animated and isn’t really real. Certainly Nataliya has got to be a digital avatar, right? A fake persona meant to punk all of us into thinking a woman could genuinely build muscle mass that male bodybuilders could only dream of? Well, the truth is that she’s real. Very real.

I have no idea how long she can maintain her physique. I’m not a nutritional scientist or biology expert, but it seems reasonable to worry about her long-term health. All that animal protein, steroids, and hormone-blocking drugs can’t be good for you. Years and years of living like that should eventually take its toll, right?

Eh. Maybe, maybe not.

For now, let’s just appreciate who she is and what she’s been able to accomplish thus far. Only time will tell as to how much of an impact she’s making on the visibility of female bodybuilders, if any at all.

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What is Sexy?

Sexy - Kim Buck

Kim Buck beckoning us to hop in bed with her.

Female bodybuilders are sexy.

Soooooooooooo incredibly sexy. Steaming hot. They pulsate with sexual appeal. Every inch of their immaculate bodies is divine. Female bodybuilders produce emotions, thoughts, and gut reactions out of us that cannot be described, properly attributed, or replicated.

They are also beautiful. Immensely beautiful. Incomprehensibly beautiful.

Sexy and beautiful. Beautiful and sexy.

However, as strange as this may sound, what is beautiful is not necessarily sexy, and by that same token what is sexy is not necessarily beautiful. Hopefully this makes more sense if we dive into what these two concepts actually mean.

The questions of what is “sexy” and what is “beautiful” are two different – though interconnected – matters. Beauty is primarily concerned with aesthetic preferences. Sexy, on the other hand, has more to do with the feelings certain people, words, images, and objects elicit inside us. For example, some people get turned on by the feeling of leather or being picked up and carried. There’s nothing inherently beautiful about either of those things. Yet, they’re considered sexy by those who consider such things to be sexy.

I can look at an artist rendering of the Himalayan Mountains and say that it’s beautiful. I can also glance at a gorgeous woman stroll by on the sidewalk and think the exact same thing. But I can also stare (hopefully, inconspicuously) at a less attractive woman at the gym who’s deadlifting 250 pounds and say to myself:

“Damn. That’s sexy!”

Sidewalk Lady may check all the boxes of physical attractiveness. Every single one of them. Deadlift Lady may check some of the boxes – or very few of them – and yet, for some inexplicable reason, she makes me feel things that Sidewalk Lady doesn’t. This isn’t to insult or degrade Sidewalk Lady, but to point out that how we react to certain visual stimuli doesn’t always follow logical explanations.

Deadlift Lady’s activities spark inside me the desire to do things that are socially inappropriate. Many of us can keep our animalistic instincts in check, but staring a few seconds too long clearly isn’t one of them as far as I’m concerned. I want nothing more than to marvel at her raw strength, cheer her on, and fantasize about what other kinds of miraculous feats she can accomplish. Sidewalk Lady is someone I’ll most likely forget about 30 seconds later. Sorry, ma’am! Sidewalk Lady is a dime a dozen. Deadlift Lady, however, is a much more rare bird.

Sexy - Shannon Courtney

Deadlift Lady is sort of Shannon Courtney. Alright, it’s not “sort of” her. It’s actually Shannon Courtney.

This partially explains why so many people are perplexed that folks like you and I love female bodybuilders so much. On the surface, muscular women are, for lack of a better word, “freaky” looking. They’re not normal. They’re unconventional. They defy our preconceived notions of what a woman “should” look like. Because we typically associate large muscles as being a masculine trait, when we see big muscles on a feminine body our brains struggle to comprehend it. Our natural instinct is to dismiss it as being “against nature” or “unnatural” to the point that a disgusted reaction is a perfectly reasonable response. In other words, being revolted at the sight of a female bodybuilder isn’t bigotry; it’s simply the product of our upbringing and societal expectations.

Yet, for many of us the sight of a female bodybuilder elicits the exact opposite reaction. Instead of looking at her with terror or repulsion, we get turned on. Big time. No mistake about that. Our blood starts to boil. Sexual fantasies of all sorts immediately pop into our minds. Our breathing quickens. We suddenly have the urge to…uh, do certain things. To put it mildly.

This is because our love for female bodybuilders goes below the surface. It’s beyond what you simply see on the outside. The experience of seeing a photo of an FBB may seem jarring at first, but once you actually “get it” and understand their appeal, you become enthralled by them and cannot get enough. Yes, we do love them because we appreciate how they look (or at least, how most of them look). But it’s more than that. We find them sexy because of how they make us feel.

Female bodybuilders make us feel inspired, empowered, awestruck, dazed, imaginative, intrigued, aroused, sensual, curious, anxious, jealous, insecure, terrified, astonished, shocked, confused, provoked, delirious, uneasy, and everything in between. Please note that some of these emotions are contradictory. Some are negative. How can someone feel aroused and terrified at the same time? Is it possible to be inspired and insecure simultaneously? Do people really find it sexy to be both empowered and anxious?

The answer is simple to all these questions:

YES!

There is tremendous appeal in feeling strong contradictory emotions at the same time. This is why bondage role play is so popular. Some people get tremendously aroused being scared and aroused at the same time. In fact, being frightened heightens the sense of arousal. At least, that’s the idea. It’s totally possible to look at a picture of a large muscular woman and instantly feel inadequate, insecure, and pathetic when you think about your own lack of muscle mass. You’re a guy who lifts regularly at the gym and eats (fairly) healthy. “How the hell can a woman – who’s scientifically predisposed to being smaller in stature than men traditionally are – be bigger than me? It’s so agonizing because it makes me look bad! Compared to her, I’m fat, lazy, tiny, puny, pitiful, weak, and completely out of shape.”

“Yet, I think she’s the most beautiful woman who’s ever existed and I want to ravage her in bed all night!”

Sexy - Tina Nguyen

Who wouldn’t want to ravage Tina Nguyen all night long?

Well, then. This is something that’s a bit psychologically complicated. Is it possible that guys who love female bodybuilders are really – whether they realize it or not – projecting their own insecurities onto an object they find sexually desirable? That instead of seeing muscular women as the enemy, they treat them as an ally? That they secretly desire to be the weaker sex for once? That they get incredibly turned on by a woman who can take control? That when they feel at their most helpless, they actually feel the most powerful?

Human psychology is complex and beyond my amateurish understanding. But what I do know – and this comes from experience as well – is that these contradictory feelings are real. And not only are they real, they contribute to explaining why we find female bodybuilders so unbelievably sexy.

Our love for FBBs goes well below the surface. When I see Cindy Landolt post a photo on Instagram of her sprawling on a bed wearing sexy lingerie, it’s almost as though I can literally see powerful vibes exploding out of the computer screen. She doesn’t just look hot and beautiful. She looks powerful. At the top of her game. At her peak. She looks invincible. No one can stop her. She has her audience in the palm of her hand and she can control them however she likes. And this is the kicker: She isn’t doing this just because of the so-called “male gaze.” She does this because it makes her personally feel empowered. She chooses to flaunt her immaculate body in sexually provocative ways because it’s her way of transforming herself into a superhero. Yes, she is a human being. But her muscles allow her to transcend her humanness and become something else entirely. She becomes, well, superhuman.

Miss Landolt understands that men are visual creatures. And she just gave them more visual stimuli than they can handle. If their brains explode into a million pieces, so be it. That’s her super power. That’s why she’s world-famous (in a modest sense) while other traditionally beautiful women are not. That’s why we can scroll for hours through Instagram looking at thousands of photos of beautiful women and think to ourselves, “She’s cute.” But when we come across Cindy strutting around in a bikini showing off her perfectly sculpted figure, we then react by saying:

“Daaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaayyyyyuuuuuuuuuuuummmmm guuuuuuuuuuurrrrrlllllllllll!!!!!!!!!!!!”

See the difference? Subtle, it ain’t.

The question of deciphering “what is sexy” really boils down to these kinds of emotional reactions. There’s a cliché that states “sexy is an attitude.” There’s a lot of truth to that. But it’s more than that. What we find to be sexy (and by that same token, unsexy) is often a reflection of who we are. It shines a light on our own deepest fears, anxieties, insecurities, and inner demons. Perhaps this is a clever coping mechanism. No one wants to feel inadequate or weak. So instead of giving in to these failures, we turn it around. Rather than treat an FBB as a constant reminder of how “unmanly” we are, we treat them as a partner. An ally. A friend. A comrade. A compatriot. An equal.

Sexy - Cindy Landolt

Cindy Landolt is one of the most perfect female bodybuilders on planet Earth. Anyone want to argue with me about that? Yeah, didn’t think so!

We turn a loss into a victory. A weakness into a strength. A competitor into a teammate. This is our way of overcoming our fears. We conquer our insecurities not by letting them defeat us, but by embracing them as a source of inner strength. Here’s an odd anecdote that hopefully illustrates what I’m trying to convey:

One time a few years ago I met a well-known female bodybuilder for a muscle worship session. I won’t reveal her name for the sake of her privacy. She’s tall, thick, remarkably muscular, and smart. Very business savvy. She’s tough as nails and can physically dominate any man she encounters. While I’m not personally into fantasy wrestling, we did do some casual wrestling in bed just for the fun of it. She wrapped her strong legs around my torso and squeezed. I was helpless. I could not escape. She dominated me in every sense of the word. I struggled to breathe. She could have killed me if she’d wanted to. I was weak. She was the stronger sex, and it wasn’t even close.

At the end of our time together, she was kind enough to send me off on a positive note. It felt reciprocal because earlier I was giving her plenty of cunnilingus. First, she gave me oral. Then, once I was properly erect she got out a bottle of baby oil and smeared some on the palm of her hand. She then proceeded to jerk me off. I distinctly remember looking up at her and watching her perform this deed. She was on top of me, looking down upon this weak little boy who’s helplessly lying on this back, as defenseless as a newborn kitten. But as she stroked me, I felt a weird and unexpected feeling:

I felt powerful.

It’s strange to say this out loud, but it’s true. I felt like a manly man. I felt like a Real Man. Even though on the surface, I was the weak one and she was the strong one. She could easily snap me in half if she wanted to. Earlier, she demonstrated her superior strength with no ambiguity. There is no contest as to who is stronger. It’s her. No doubt about it. Yet, as odd as this sounds, I felt as powerful as I’d ever felt before in my entire life. There’s no logic to it. I just did.

From my perspective, I was a man receiving pleasure from a gorgeous woman. She was smiling as she was doing it. It looks like she was having fun as well. Inside, I felt like the one who was in charge. It was me who was controlling my own destiny. Even after I came, I still felt that way. For those few short moments, I was experiencing a heightened sort of pleasure that I rarely get to experience. Yet, on the surface it appears like she’s in total control. While that is technically true, that wasn’t true for me emotionally. On the inside, I felt a personal sense of empowerment that no one can understand except for me. And guess what? That’s good enough.

I didn’t treat her like an enemy. She was a friend. Not a literal friend, of course. But in that particular time and place, we were equals. I gave her pleasure. Then she gave me pleasure. This cooperative exchange felt right. It felt just. It was…sexy.

Sexy - Eiza Gonzalez

Eiza Gonzalez isn’t a female bodybuilder, but damn! She’s sexy. Or is it beautiful? She’s both, actually.

What is sexy? It’s simple: Sexy is that magical confluence when a singular human experience and mother nature collide in the most beautiful way imaginable. It’s more than just a pretty face or a killer body. It’s the emotions that come with it. It’s how we feel and how we grow as a human being as a result of experiencing those feelings.

Female bodybuilders have the unique ability to conjure up those emotions like very few other women can. Can a more “traditional” looking woman elicit those same feelings? Sure she can. Back in the day of my adolescent years, Famke Janssen, Monica Bellucci, Rena Mero, Trish Stratus, Sophie Marceau, Pamela Anderson, Halle Berry, and others did just that. But FBBs are like an addictive drug. We can’t get enough of them. We keep on returning to them. Whether we’ve liked FBBs for 30 years, 20 years, or 10 weeks, every single time we regard upon a new photo of a beautiful female bodybuilder proudly showing off her large muscles, it makes us feel jittery inside. It lights a fire in our souls. It’s a wonderful feeling, one that cannot be easily articulated. And in an unfathomable way, we don’t want to have to explain it. We embrace its mysteriousness.

That’s sexy.

Sexy Summer Short Story #4 – School’s Out

School's Out - Ginger Martin

When you think of Miss Richardson, think of Ginger Martin.

Packing up the things in her classroom, Nikki takes a moment to stop, inhale a deep breath, and sigh in relief. Those pesky kids are gone for three whole months. This time in September, she’s going to have a whole new crop of little monsters who will make her life a living hell.

But now is not the time to think about that.

Nikki Richardson is the PE/health teacher at Marianne Wadsworth Elementary School. She’s also an amateur bodybuilder who regularly competes in triathlons and strength competitions. She’s sort of a local celebrity, having appeared on ESPN and sports podcasts many times over the years. But at the end of the day, she’s a teacher through and through. Until summer vacation kicks off, of course.

Then she’s something else entirely.

She has a side job that she does throughout the year, but mostly during the summer months. It’s something she keeps on the downlow for obvious reasons.

She’s also a webcam performer.

As she starts up her car and proceeds to leave the school’s parking lot, Nikki remembers that she needs to run a few errands before returning home. She needs to stop by the local sex shop and purchase new crotchless lingerie. Her loyal clientele already knows what she owns and will expect to see something different, Nikki figures.

***

Derek recently heard a rumor that he could not believe.

Is Miss Richardson actually a porn star?

Derek’s best buddy, Marcus, texted him yesterday saying he made an epic discovery: As a side job, Miss Richardson – their former PE teacher from a long time ago – hosts a weekly webcam show where she answers questions from fans, gets undressed, and does…stuff.

What kind of stuff, exactly? Neither of them knows. But they’re curious to find out.

Marcus emailed Derek earlier this morning a link to an erotic cam website where amateur performers from across the globe host regular “performances” for a modest fee. They keep a portion of the proceeds, while the website hosts keep the other portion. There are thousands of performers on this forum, but only a small handful actually make a substantial income from it. Nikki Richardson isn’t one of them, but her “following” is large enough that she can make a nontrivial amount of dough to supplement her meager teacher’s salary.

According to the forum’s chat board, Miss Richardson’s next webcam appearance is scheduled for tonight at 9:00 p.m. sharp. Luckily for Derek, his roommates are planning to attend some boring art gallery opening, so he’ll have the house entirely to himself.

Growing up, all the boys loved Miss Richardson. She was gorgeous, tough, strong, and didn’t take shit from anybody. She also had a soft spot and a good sense of humor. She’d challenge anyone to a pull-up contest and always won easily. Always.

Nobody knew if she was married – rumors spread that she was a lesbian – or had any kids. Her life was an enigma, which is pretty typical of all teachers. But her unique combination of beauty and brawn made her especially intriguing to impressionable hormone-raging adolescent boys.

The time is now 6:40 p.m. A little more than two hours away from the start of the show.

Time to get something to eat!

***

“Hm, this looks pretty damn good on me,” Nikki says aloud to no one in particular. All alone in her bedroom, Nikki regards herself in a full-length mirror in her newly purchased lingerie. A ruby red satin number with sexy white frills lining the edges. Nikki can be very particular about her outfits. She is supremely satisfied with this one.

Nikki glances at her phone and sees it’s 8:30 p.m. She typically logs in to the streaming site 15 minutes before showtime (which is recommended) so that if any technical difficulties were to arise, customer service could fix them before her impatient audience decides to bail. That’s not an unusual occurrence. Unless you’re really popular, if you’re even five minutes late, people will assume you’re a no-show and go somewhere else. Even if you’ve paid the entry fee, the website gives you a 10-minute grace period to switch to a different performer if the one you originally wanted to see is absent.

As a teacher, Nikki hates unexcused absences.

School's Out - webcam

A typical webcam.

Boris, Nikki’s black Labrador, looks at his mommy with sad eyes. He wants to go out for his nightly walk around the neighborhood. But not yet.

“We’ll go for our walk later, sweetie. Sorry, but you have to go downstairs now.”

Miffed, Boris is led downstairs where he must live in exile for the next hour. He’s used to it by now, but that doesn’t mean he hates it any less.

***

8:58 p.m.

Derek has already paid his $25 for this 30-minute show (he doesn’t want to think about how much that is per minute). The screen is blank with the ominous words “The Show Will Begin Shortly. Thanks for Cumming” sprawled across. That pun couldn’t be more cringe-worthy.

A single drop of sweat rolls down his face. He just texted Marcus to let him know that he’s going to watch tonight’s performance. Marcus replied: “Me too bro. Looking forward to it!”

Memories of 6th grade start to flood back. Derek remembers trying to steal a peek at Miss Richardson’s enormous biceps during class. One boy claims he spied on her during lunchbreak and saw a glimpse of a tattoo on her broad back. He couldn’t verify this claim.

Growing up, Derek often fantasized about making love to her. He spent many nights jerking off to the thought of touching her muscles. He knows he’s not the only one who did that. Far from it.

It is now 9:00. Oh boy. Derek’s heart is pounding hard. His pulse is racing a million miles per hour. He might pass out if indeed Miss Richardson is the one who will be performing at this webcam show.

The blank screen starts to load. A familiar voice beckons.

“Good evening, boys.”

Oh shit!

Sure enough, from the comfort of her bedroom, Nikki Richardson appears wearing nothing but red underwear. Her chiseled pecs, sculpted arms, husky shoulders, and six-pack abdomen are all there for viewers to see. It’s been more than ten years since Derek last saw Miss Richardson. She still looks as gorgeous as ever, even with a few new wrinkles lining her face. Derek is almost surprised that Miss Richardson could ever get…old.

School's Out - red lingerie

Sexy red lingerie.

“Judging from the email addresses I’m seeing here, I’m guessing a few of my former students are watching this. So I’d like to say “hi” to Derek, Marcus, and Stephen. Hi boys! I miss you all!”

Derek falls backwards out of his chair and lands on his ass.

“What the fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck???”

Damn! She knows he’s watching her! How fucking humiliating…

“Don’t feel embarrassed,” she continues. “I won’t expose your last names or anything. I know all of you are adults now, so it’s fine.” She smirks with guilty pleasure.

Derek gets back in his chair and catches his breath. He’s surprised he didn’t suffer a heart attack. Or knock himself out cold when he fell to the floor.

Nikki starts by brushing her dark brown hair and talking about her summer plans. She doesn’t reference any boyfriend or husband, yet she seems to imply she’s travelling to Europe with somebody else. Her bedroom looks pretty standard, with a neat-looking Chinese lamp in the background. Derek could not stop staring at her large pecs sitting underneath her modest breasts. He fantasized for many years of what it would be like to fondle those breasts. This moment is the most surreal of his life.

The double striations going down her chest make a chill run down Derek’s spine. Then she stops chatting and unhooks her bra. Derek’s breathing stops. She drops it, revealing her flat yet enticing breasts. The very breasts that he’s thought about for years. Nikki’s nipples stick out nearly an inch – by Derek’s distant calculations – and look as hard as a rock. This moment was definitely worth the years of waiting.

“It’s way too hot in here. No AC. The windows in my room don’t open all the way,” Nikki observes. “It looks like I’m going to have to take matters into my own hands…”

She stands up, revealing her crotchless panties. Derek audibly gasps. Nikki rolls them down her hips and drops them to the floor. Nearly naked – with the exception of her cream-colored white high heels – Nikki knows she has her former students in the palm of her hand. And that they have something else entirely in the palm of their hands!

“This is a side of me you’ve never seen before but have always dreamed about, right boys?”

“Yes, Miss Richardson,” Derek replies, knowing she can’t hear him.

“Let me show you a side of me you definitely haven’t seen before!”

Nikki reaches down and lightly pinches her swollen clit. She rubs it between her index and middle fingers, going up and down as leisurely as she can. Derek can’t help it. He unzips his pants and takes out his hardened penis from his boxers. He begins to stroke it. He has no clue if Marcus or Stephen are doing the same thing, but he doesn’t really care. All that matters is seeing what Miss Richardson is capable of…

Damn!

“Oooohh, yes….Mmmmmm………..” Nikki moans.

Sitting down on her bed, Nikki then falls on her back and spreads her legs as widely as she can. By now she’s flat out jerking her clit as if it were a little cock, hungry for stimulation. Derek intensifies his own stroking. Nikki’s moans become shorter and are replaced by heavy breathing and animalistic groans. The viewers can almost literally feel the heat emanating from their computer screens. She’s about to come, as is Derek.

“Oh fuck!” Nikki screams.

Indeed, as if on cue, Nikki comes. Her thick legs – still spread apart – convulse wildly. Her entire bed shakes. Meanwhile, Derek reaches his climax and spurts hot semen all over his keyboard. Damn it! That better not cause it to malfunction…

Nikki’s spasms subside. Derek’s spasms keep on going. But eventually, it stops too.

Whew.

Nikki then takes out a large black dildo from an unseen bag and licks the tip with her tongue. Derek has yet to catch his breath when he realizes that the show isn’t over yet…it has just begun.

“Well, boys. What did you think about that? What do you think about this hefty toy of mine? Doesn’t it look…intimidating?”

Derek silently nods in agreement.

“If you want to know what I plan to do with this toy, you’ll have to wait until, ahem…next week,” she says. “I’ll see you all later. For now, enjoy the rest of your evening.” Nikki continues to lick the dildo up and down its realistically veiny shaft.

“School’s out!”

The Vulnerable Female Bodybuilder

The seemingly invincible Ginger Martin.

Female bodybuilders are strong. They seem invincible. Unstoppable. Powerful. Authoritative. A force of nature. One who shall not be reckoned with.

If you mess with her, she’ll mess with you. And you don’t want that to happen to you. Trust us.

Fans of female bodybuilders have put these ladies onto a pedestal, one in which they don’t seem to be human. FBBs are often described in quasi-spiritual terms; using words such as “goddess,” “angel,” or “queen.” These words evoke ethereal images of immortals walking amongst men. FBBs are somehow not human because a “normal” human can never actually look that breathtakingly beautiful. Regular human beings are not able to make your heart skip a beat, your jaw drop to the floor, and a chill run down your spine just by simply posting an untouched photo of themselves on Instagram.

But alas, many FBBs are able to do just that. Many times over, in fact.

Yet, in the back of our minds we know that FBBs are not actually goddesses. They are flesh and blood human beings with feelings, thoughts, fears, insecurities, families, hobbies, and faults. We know that intellectually, on a theoretical level. But emotionally, we cannot help but view these ladies as invulnerable angels whose unique beauty somehow endow them with some sort of shield against typical human imperfections.

In our fantasies, our favorite FBBs are warriors who can slay thousands of enemies at a time. They’re powerful deities who can make the most formidable kingdoms tremble to their knees. They’re sirens who can enslave men to do their will. They’re so breathtakingly beautiful you cannot imagine a moment when they’d ever be sad, intimidated, or not in control.

Yet…

…yet we know the reality of things is much more mundane. But we don’t want to think about that. We’d rather focus on an FBB’s perfections instead of her basic humanity. However, it is worthwhile to keep this important point in mind: Female bodybuilders are much more vulnerable than you’d think.

Here’s why:

First, female bodybuilders exist in a world that doesn’t always accept them for who they are.

The aesthetic of a woman with big muscles certainly excites some of us, but not all of us. As incomprehensible as this sounds, not everyone appreciates the beauty of female bodybuilders. Some are disgusted by a nontraditional feminine figure that doesn’t fit into the narrow box society has come to define. This could be caused by people not liking what they’re not familiar with, but it goes deeper than that.

They’re disgusted because the sight of veins popping out of a muscular arm isn’t terribly appealing – regardless of the gender of the person it belongs to. But especially if it’s a female arm. We’re taught to believe that a beautiful woman should be smooth, angular, and soft. Female bodybuilders are not smooth, angular, and soft. They’re rough, bulky, and coarse. Their bodies do not fit within the acceptable parameters society (properly understood, that is) has arbitrarily established. And because of that, female bodybuilders are always at a disadvantage when it comes to breaking into the entertainment and modeling industries. Even the fitness industry seems to prefer the “fit” look instead of the hypermuscular look.

This lack of acceptance has pushed the female bodybuilding community underground, away from mainstream attention. Is there any need to bring up the unfortunate demise of the Ms. Olympia contest?

Of course, there will always be the token role in a sitcom for a “muscle chick” who shows up, looks menacing, and does something comedic to the male star like kick his ass or wallop him at arm wrestling. They’re not there as a character, but as comedic foil. It’s a bit dehumanizing, but when it’s slim pickings in the entertainment industry, beggars can’t be choosers. You have to accept whatever paying job you can get. Jayne Trcka’s role in Scary Movie (2000) exploits every single negative stereotype about female bodybuilders you can possibly imagine. But from her perspective, it’s a paying job in a major Hollywood production. Can you really blame her?

Kathy Johansson enjoying fun in the sun.

Second, and this point is directly related to the first one, female bodybuilding isn’t a very lucrative profession.

There’s almost no money to be made through competitions. Traditional modeling jobs don’t pay a whole lot no matter what your body type happens to be. You can work as a personal trainer or fitness coach, but being a bodybuilder isn’t necessarily an advantage. It’s not a disadvantage (as far as one can tell), but there are no “bonus points” to be had from being a bodybuilder except for it gives you an extra sense of validity. But not everyone thinks that’s a deal breaker.

And living the life of a bodybuilder isn’t cheap either. The food and supplementation alone costs quite a bit of money if you’re trying to eat clean, often, and strategically. It takes time to go to the gym, lift, do cardio, stretch, shower, and go home to eat and devour a protein shake. It’s challenging to balance working full time, training as a bodybuilder (even if you’re not competing professionally), and enjoying personal time with friends and family. It boggles the mind to ponder how male and female bodybuilders are able to do it.

In other words, female bodybuilders are essentially normal people like us with much different kinds of living expenses. Unlike pro baseball or basketball players, pro bodybuilders aren’t making $20 million per year. They need to hold down a regular 9-5 job just like the rest of us, except squeeze in several hours of training on top of that. You don’t need to be a life coach to understand the difficulties of balancing all of these priorities.

But where exactly is the money at? Well, one can make plenty of dough if they’re willing to offer muscle worship or wrestling sessions. Which conveniently transitions us to our next point:

Being a session provider can be a risky business.

If you need a primer on what “muscle worship” means, you can read all about it in a prior post. While most of us think (and fantasize) about muscle worship and wrestling sessions from the perspective of the client, we mustn’t ignore the provider’s side of the story. Even if rules are set and established beforehand, participating in a fantasy wrestling session can be quite risky.

You never know when you’ll accidentally get injured. Or intentionally get injured by someone with less-than-honorable intentions (there are a lot of strangely insecure guys who feel like they have something to “prove” to a well-meaning FBB who is just trying to earn a living). Or meet a creepy person who stalks you afterward – both online and perhaps even in-person. Stalkers affect all sorts of people, but female bodybuilders are a special breed. They’re as rare as a solar eclipse, which can drive a person whose mental state is already “shaky” at best to do things that definitely cross the line of sane behavior.

For these reasons, FBBs often lay down ground rules before the session even begins. They want to know how much you weigh if you’re interested in “lift and carry” activities. They want to make clear that the wrestling is for fantasy purposes only, as opposed to being a recreation of the Olympic trials. They want to be clear that “tap out” rules will be honored by both sides. In other words, they want to know that they – and the participant – will be safe at all times.

Honest accidents without any malice will inevitably happen from time to time. That is unfortunate, but a reasonable risk one faces when engaging in such strenuous activities. If you want a job without any physical hazards, get a desk job where you sit at a computer and type all day long. But that is not what an FBB who offers muscle worship/fantasy wrestling appointments chooses to do.

A coy looking Tina Nguyen.

Injuries stink for obvious reasons. They hurt, can lead to future health problems, and can be demoralizing. Injuries also inhibit your ability to train, work, travel, and live comfortably. And when your body and health are central to your income stream, being hurt is a double whammy. It’s difficult to earn a living when you’re preoccupied with healing up from a recent torn ligament or fractured bone.

Any lifestyle that is that physically demanding with carry with it inherent risks. And when you throw in clients who may or may not be familiar with you (not every session provider asks for a reference or makes background checks), you never know what sort of person you’ll be spending the next hour or two with. That can be a scary proposition, no matter how emotionally and physically strong you are.

On top of all that, travelling from city to city takes you away from your friends and family for long stretches of time. It’s hard to imagine what that type of life is like unless you’ve lived it. If you have young children – or even older children – being away from them for long periods of time can be stressful. Think of it from the mother’s perspective. Then the children’s. See why this can be a volatile profession?

The next point goes along with that concept: Being a female bodybuilder can be really awkward at times – both for you and your loved ones.

Can you imagine being a little kid and having a mom who “doesn’t look like the other moms?” She’s a lot bigger, stronger, and physically imposing than Billy and Jimmy’s moms. She even has a deeper voice, smaller boobs, and more veins popping out of her arms than is typically considered, uh, typical. And she can bench press more than all the dads out there.

Talk about awkward.

This idea is directly connected to the first point about FBBs living in a world that doesn’t always accept them for who they are. This explores that very concept from everyone else’s perspective.

The older kids get, the more vicious the rumors will become. It doesn’t take a hardboiled private detective to find out what happens at those mysterious muscle worship sessions. It doesn’t take an avid porn aficionado to stumble upon an obscure video of an FBB giving a blow job or hand job to a nameless and faceless beta male client. This sort of information is out there for anyone who is willing to search for it. And not every blog is as respectful as the one you’re currently reading right now. Some blogs and comment sections (ah, yes. The dreaded “comments section” that has single-handedly contributed to the catastrophic dumbing down of our society) can be quite crude in describing what goes on behind closed doors. And come to think of it, it isn’t necessarily crudeness that makes this an issue. Just the basic knowledge that prominent FBBs provide sessions as a side gig is enough to get people to chat, gossip, and speculate on what actually is going on in those remote hotel rooms.

Rumors are rumors, but when rumors are spread widely and loudly enough, they start to become “fact,” even if they are not actually facts. No need to bring up “fake news,” is there?

Can you imagine being a normal kid who does a Google search on your mom and discovers she gives hand jobs to hundreds of guys across the world each year? And she does it for cash that eventually will help fund your college tuition? Talk about an epic discovery that you’d want to erase from your memory “Eternal Sunshine-style.”

Can you imagine being teased for this by the other kids whose parents are more “normal,” if such a thing even exists? Perhaps your FBB mama is remarkably open about her life’s work. Or maybe she tries to shield you from it. In today’s Internet age, it’s nearly impossible to keep something like that under wraps forever. Eventually, the truth will come out if you wait long enough. Nothing can stay hidden for good. Not anymore. We’re far beyond that point. If there’s a grainy video of you – even if this video is more than twenty years old – doing something even slightly embarrassing (never mind performing sexual acts on strangers), you know for a fact it will eventually smack you in the face. Usually when you least expect it. And especially when you don’t ask for it.

Kiana Phi showing off her hard work.

Here’s a true story that I feel compelled to share: Not too long ago a real-life female bodybuilder whom I’ve met for a muscle worship session once before contacted me via e-mail about a recent blog post I had written. She kindly asked that I remove a photo of her that appears in it. The blog article wasn’t about her specifically, but I wanted her picture to be in it because I like her so much.

I dutifully did remove it, carrying out her request as swiftly as I could. She didn’t want her name and reputation to be tarnished. She didn’t want to be associated with an underground subculture that could come back to haunt her, her husband, and her kids.

She didn’t want her daughters to be teased about what their beloved mama does with men in hotel rooms across America. Even if these rumors aren’t based in reality, that doesn’t matter. Harmful gossip is harmful regardless of its truthfulness. I removed her photo because I didn’t want to upset her, but I also did so because I instantly put myself in her shoes. I choose to remain anonymous on this blog because I wouldn’t want my friends and family to know about my unusual fetish. I can grant myself anonymity with very little effort on my part. For an FBB who is considered a “celebrity” in the eyes of many people worldwide, they do not have that luxury.

Public figures cannot control what people say about them. And not everyone can pay a high-quality spin team, PR representative, or “search engine scrubber” who can find creative ways to hide bad stuff said about you. It’s just not possible in today’s interconnected and plugged-in world to totally control your online reputation. I can create a Ryan Takahashi avatar and establish whatever persona I want to. Public figures cannot do that as easily.

Isabelle Turell – what a woman!

This is something I must – and the rest of you, too – keep in mind at all times. When you write about an FBB, wrestler, or session provider on an Internet chat forum, you’re not just communicating to the people with whom you’re directly corresponding. You’re also spreading information – and this includes both accurate and inaccurate information – to the world at large. That’s someone’s reputation. That’s someone’s mom, sister, wife, friend, or lover. That’s another human being, not a brand new air conditioner that deserves a four star rating out of five.

When you call her a whore, you’re saying that about a person with feelings. When you reveal what goes on behind closed doors without honoring her anonymity, you risk harming her reputation. It makes perfect sense why many FBBs are reluctant about allowing people to write reviews about them on chat forums. Who knows what some disgruntled yahoo will say to a captivated audience?

Female bodybuilders are some of the strongest willed people on planet Earth. But they are not invincible. They are flesh and blood human beings who are just as vulnerable as you or I. They may not seem like it in the fever pitch depths of our imaginations, but this is the truth. They are vulnerable, often times in ways you cannot see or understand.

Truth or Dare (part one)

Perfect abs.

Twice a week, I get to see Shawna.

Shawna is a professional bodybuilder, personal trainer, model, fitness accessory spokeswoman, pornographic actress, and overall Muscle Goddess. I first got acquainted with Shawna at a fitness expo last year when she delivered the keynote address to a room full of hundreds of nutritional experts. I was among those in attendance on that fateful day.

Shawna is the Most Perfect Woman in the World…and I do not mean that lightly. She’s strikingly beautiful, stands at 6-feet tall barefoot, and has bigger muscles than the typical Meathead Bro you see at the gym. She has long blonde hair, ocean blue eyes, curvy hips, and bulging muscles covering every square inch of her incredible physique. She’s absolutely flawless. I don’t know how old she is, but she probably hasn’t hit 40 yet. Or maybe she has. I don’t know. None of that matters. She’s ageless.

I work for Healthy Living Nutrition, a medium-sized startup company that specializes in producing breakfast bars, protein shakes, and hot to-go meals that people can order via an app. Just download the HLN app and within minutes you can plan an entire month’s worth of breakfasts, lunches, and dinners (not to mention a few snacks here and there).

The app allows users to plot out every single one of their meals in advance and have them shipped to the address (or addresses) of their choice. We began serving clients only in greater Seattle, but have recently expanded to include Spokane, Portland, Coeur d’Alene, Boise, and Redding. We foresee expansion to Los Angeles – which is considered the Holy Grail of markets – and Phoenix within the next two to three years.

But first, we needed a spokesperson who could sell our app to the bodybuilding community. We’ve already enlisted pro baseball, football, basketball, and tennis players, respectively. Now we need an “in” with bodybuilders, figure competitors, fitness models, and anyone who aspires to become one of those. When me and a colleague registered to attend this fitness conference, I knew Shawna could be that “foot in the door” that we so desperately needed.

And as it turned out, she was.

My co-worker Dale and I chatted with Shawna after the expo ended over glasses of wine and plates of cheap happy hour nachos. We told her she can use the app for free for an entire month, report back to us how she felt about it, and choose to endorse it if she wanted to. We told her the percentage of our profits that she can earn in a year, which appeared to go over well with her. She agreed to our deal, downloaded the app onto her phone, and went about her merry way. Dale and I felt happy about ourselves, all the while staring helplessly at her impressive, angelic muscular body.

“Holy shit, she’s perfect. She can’t possibly be human,” Dale quipped after she left.

“The amazing thing is that she is human,” I said. “She looks like that because she dedicates her entire life to looking like that. It didn’t happen by accident.”

“Damn,” Dale replied, downing the rest of his wine. “So fucking gorgeous.”

A month passes and Shawna emails me saying she loves the app and would be happy to endorse it in our upcoming advertising blitz. She signed her name on the dotted line and agreed to keep using the app for at least a year and appear in several promotional videos, radio hits, and social media posts. I got a promotion. Dale ended up leaving the company after being plucked by a competitor. His replacement ended up being a dopey idiot fresh out of college. Life moves on.

Factory where pre-packaged food is made.

Me being promoted meant I had to move to a different city. Now I reside in Santa Monica, right in the heart of where we want our business to expand to. I guess the logic is that if the company moves its best people into a desirable target market…eventually that’ll mean we will successfully penetrate that market. We’ll see if it actually works.

Shawna, coincidentally, also lives in the area – albeit Torrance. We’ve met up a few times to discuss business-related items, chat about our lives, and complain about the things regarding the fitness industry that drive us up a wall. As it turns out, we both hate everything Planet Fitness stands for and would love to see its business model burn to the ground. Great minds think alike, right?

My office is located within walking distance of the factory where we produce our breakfast bars. Every day we churn out tens of thousands of granola bars and ship them to gyms, grocery stores, convenience stores, gas stations, and online retailers across the country. And occasionally, out of the 25,000 we produce daily, a good dozen or so will be “unfit” for sale.

What does “unfit” for sale mean exactly? It could mean a variety of things. A bar could accidentally get smashed, come out wrongly shaped, not fit within the designated packaging, or fall on the floor when a clumsy warehouse worker nears the end of his shift. Regardless, we normally toss out the “bad” bars so that the public doesn’t see them. We can’t allow our newly developed brand to be sullied in any way.

Sometimes, employees will steal a few bars that didn’t make the final cut when nobody is looking. There’s technically no internal rules against that, although the higher ups at Corporate would prefer these misshapen bars never see the light of day. Heaven forbid if a random guy on the street accidentally sees one of our breakfast bars with an unauthorized crack down the middle. That’ll spell our inevitable doom for sure.

Recently, I got the brilliant idea of delivering some of these misshapen bars to our favorite customer – Shawna. These bars don’t taste all that great, but they aren’t supposed to. They pack a nutritional punch, stuffing in every single vitamin and mineral known to mankind in a single bite. They’re supposed to help bodybuilders get “gains,” and that’s exactly what they do. Shawna recognizes and appreciates these benefits better than anyone. That’s why she’s our #1 spokeswoman.

Whew. Deep breath.

All of that is to say that twice a week, I come over to Shawna’s home and deliver to her as many “unfit” breakfast bars as I can manage. I usually visit on Tuesdays and Fridays, but sometimes I come on a Thursday if she plans on being busy the next day. I have no life, so it doesn’t matter to me when I get to meet her. No girlfriend, no kids, no hobbies, no nothing outside of work. It’s depressing, but I try to not think about it too often.

I should also hurry up and mention that because these bars are so super nutritious, they’re also super expensive. $8 per bar. Yeah, that’s quite a lot. But they’re supposed to supply an entire meal’s worth of nutrition in a few bites, so they’re pricy for a reason. The bean counters aren’t just making this up out of thin air. Shawna likes them a lot but can’t afford to purchase too many of them legitimately.

A plate of granola bars.

So, that’s where I come into play.

I give her free breakfast bars twice a week. Each delivery could be worth up to $100. That’s a lot of free stuff. Although, it’s not completely free.

Nope. She does pay me.

In sexual favors.

I usually arrive at her house between 7:00 and 7:30 p.m., depending on traffic (and, for the record, traffic really sucks in California). I park my car in her driveway, take out a non-conspicuous looking brown cardboard box out of the trunk, and casually walk to her front door. I knock three times. Within 30 seconds she opens it. We kiss each other on the cheek. We exchange pleasantries for a couple of minutes. Sometimes she offers me iced tea or lemonade. I graciously accept. I politely drink it all, whether I like it or not. She takes the box of contraband granola bars from me and stashes it away in her kitchen.

Then, she dims the lights, closes the shades, turns on some quiet music, and strips naked.

I also strip naked.

We enter her living room and begin the festivities. She poses for me. She shows off her muscles. She goes to the gym and trains five days a week, with Tuesday and Friday being her two off-days (hence, this is why I visit her on these days). She’s a Tall Blonde Muscle Goddess who stands – I believe I’ve said this before – 6-feet tall without shoes on. She’s a marvel to look at. From head to toe, she’s ripped. Completely ripped. Jacked up. Her biceps are larger than my legs. Her legs are larger than my torso. Her torso is larger than…a freight train? A Mack truck? A Boeing 747?

I touch her body. I sometimes rub oil on it. I worship her muscles. We almost never talk during our “play time.” I kiss her skin as she flexes. Occasionally, when she’s in the mood, she’ll lie down on the sofa and spread her legs wide, revealing her swollen clitoris.

It’s huge. HUGE. Three inches long when fully erect. That’s not a fucking joke. I’m not exaggerating one fucking bit. Her clit is that enormous. Unbelievably enormous. It defies science. And that’s an understatement.

Eye-popping. Jaw-dropping. Heart-stopping. And highly erotic.

After she spreads her legs, I get down on my knees and suck on it. I suck on it until she comes. She’ll come multiple times. At first, I was terrible at it. But after repeated attempts, I’ve become exceptionally good at it. Shawna’s coached me on how to properly give her cunnilingus. She explicitly tells me how to use my tongue, lips, and fingers to my advantage. Now, I can play her like a fiddle. I know how to give her pleasure that literally makes her scream.

Shawna could be a taller Lindsay Mulinazzi. Note: This story is fictional and does not reflect any real world experiences.

I know how to give her satisfying climaxes that make her entire body shudder. I know how to prolong her orgasm just long enough to make her beg me to finish the job. I know how to tease her, how to torture her, how to make her teeter just long enough on the edge of orgasm but deny her the conclusion she seeks. And once she does reach that orgasmic climax, it’s the greatest orgasm she’s ever experienced…up to that point, of course.

Once I’ve satisfied her, she enthusiastically returns the favor. Most of the time, she’ll give me a simple hand job. Occasionally, a blow job. But that’s it. Those are my two options. We’ve given each other oral and manual stimulation hundreds of times, but we’ve never had actual penetrative sex. She has strict boundaries, and I respect those boundaries.

I always respect her boundaries.

Although she’s not currently married (she’s been divorced twice before) and doesn’t appear to be in a relationship with anyone (that I can tell), she doesn’t want to cross that threshold with me. She says it’s not personal. It’s strictly a professional choice. I dutifully accept that explanation.

“In a weird way, this is a business transaction,” Shawna once said to me moments after cleaning up my semen off her neck. “An unconventional business transaction, but a business transaction nevertheless. Wouldn’t you say?”

“I would agree with that,” I replied.

So we’ve never had sex – at least, “sex” properly understood and traditionally defined. But we’ve been very intimate with each other. Many times. During the past year I’ve spent countless hours with her clitoris in my mouth. She’s had my semen smeared on almost every imaginable place of her magnificent body. Yet, we’ve never gone “all the way.” I don’t think we’ll ever get there.

Shawna is a unique kind of person, both externally and internally. She obviously looks different on the outside – not too many “normal” women have muscles as big as an NFL linebacker – in every conceivable way. But on the inside, she’s both open to talking about her life and extremely guarded in other areas.

For example, she rarely talks about her kids. During one moment when both of us were slightly drunk, she revealed that she has four kids. She first became pregnant when she was 15. Her second born arrived when she was 17. Her other two kids were born when she was 18 and 20, respectively. She’s now in her late 30s or early 40s, and her youngest child is now old enough to be a college student. Yikes.

The father of her first child was a 15-year-old kid just like her. He panicked, ran away from home, and later joined the Army. He was deployed to Iraq shortly afterward and came home in a body bag. Very tragic. The father of her second child was a Catholic missionary who apparently tried out the “missionary” position with her. That’s no joke. When she became pregnant and refused to have an abortion, he quit his job, renounced his Catholicism, and committed suicide by overdosing on sleeping pills. Yet another senseless tragedy.

This is what Shawna’s home looks like.

Her other two children were the product of her first marriage. I don’t know much about this guy. She didn’t have any kids with her second husband. I also don’t know much about him.

Her first husband was 25 years her senior, and her second husband was born two weeks earlier than she was. She’s now single…and definitely not ready to mingle. She says she has no intention of getting married ever again.

I don’t know which of her kids are male and female. They could all be boys or they could all be girls. Or somewhere in between. It’s probably somewhere in between. But at the end of the day, I don’t know much about this part of her life. And that’ll probably be the way things remain.

As I pull up to her driveway for the umpteenth time, I think about whether or not her kids are aware of what Mom has to do in order to get her daily quota of protein, vitamins, and minerals. I’d rather not ponder that, but how can the thought not cross my mind?

I knock on the door and wait. The wait is shorter than normal.

“Hello sweetie! Come on in,” Shawna greets me after opening the door.

I step into her house and take off my shoes. I try to not notice the glaring hole in my left black sock, exposing my big toe for everyone to see. It’s embarrassing, but Shawna is like an old buddy to me. A buddy with big muscles. And the Universe’s Largest Clit.

Her house smells like freshly coated paint. I hope I don’t start to sneeze.

“Did you finally repaint the bathroom?”

“Yes, I did! Thank you for noticing,” she says. I drop a box full of contraband granola bars on the kitchen counter as Shawna deals with something in the dining room. Cleaning up after dinner, perhaps?

Shawna pokes her head in the kitchen with a glass of champagne in hand. “I have an idea for what we can do tonight. It’ll be fun. I think you’ll enjoy it.”

“I’m sure I will. In the mood for something more creative?”

“Yes, I am,” she begins. “I’m feeling a bit adventurous tonight, for some odd reason. Probably because I’m still on cloud 9!”

“Oh? What happened to you?” We move our conversation to the living room. I start to undress like usual until Shawna places her hand on my shoulder, indicating I should stop.

“I just got cast in a movie! It’s not a major Hollywood film, but it’s not a typical porno either. It’s something low budget, independent, and artistic,” she announces.

“That’s awesome! What’s it called?” I kiss her on the cheek to congratulate her.

“It doesn’t have a title yet, but it should soon. It’s basically about a middle-aged couple whose marriage is going through the motions. In order to spice things up, they decide to play a game of erotic Truth or Dare.” Shawna sits us down on the sofa. Even when we’re both sitting, I still have to look up to her. “One of the dares the wife makes to the husband is to hire a female bodybuilder for a competitive wrestling match. You can guess who I play in this little drama.”

“Neat! You play the chauffeur, right?”

Shawna laughs. I do too.

“Not quite. We start filming in two months. Locally, so I don’t need to travel anywhere. However, in the meantime, I thought it would be a cool idea to play our own game of Truth or Dare. What say you?” She stares at me, smiling with a big toothy grin. I cannot think of a reason to refuse her offer.

“Of course! Let’s do it. You can go first if you’d like.”

Shawna sits up and blinks a few times. I feel my heart start to race, as this is a very unusual way for our evening to commence. We’ve settled into a routine. She clearly wants to break this routine, at least for one night.

“I would love to go first,” she says. “Alright. Truth or dare?”

“Dare.”

“Fantastic.” Shawna clears her throat. “I dare you to have anal sex with me. Without protection. Right now.”

In Bed with a Female Bodybuilder

I’d love to share a bed with Alina Popa.

When I think about what I would love to do with a female bodybuilder in an intimate setting, there wouldn’t be any whips, handcuffs, gags, rope, hot candle wax, wrestling mats, or blindfolds.

Instead, there’s a large bed with white linen cloth. A bottle of chilled champagne. A bright warm fireplace with plenty of spare logs. Clothing carelessly littered across the room. And of course, her. Naked. Smiling. Confident. Caring. Loving.

There isn’t a hint of animosity in the air. The mood is playful, tender, genuine. We lock eyes. We kiss. We stroke each other’s bodies. I feel her muscle-bound figure not in awe, but with a gentle sense of familiarity. I know her body well. Yet, I am still amazed by it. I’ve felt her enormous biceps thousands of times, but they are still able to send shivers down my spine. I’ve stared into her gorgeous eyes a million times before, yet they still have the uncanny ability to captivate me.

I am under her spell, yet I do not complain. I do not fight back. There is no fight to be had. She is stronger and more powerful than me. Yet I do not feel emasculated. Rather, I feel like I’m more of a man when I am with her. Her feminine strength does not invalidate my masculinity. It enhances it. I am a man and she is a woman. Her impressive muscular built does not change or disrupt that equation.

We are at peace. We are quiet, but not silent. She has no makeup on, but she is still more naturally beautiful than any supermodel who has ever lived. We love each other. There is no superficiality going on between us. As I caress her body, I am constantly reminded of the countless hours she spends at the gym and the enormous sacrifices she makes every single day to achieve her remarkable physique. She does not have to tell me how difficult it is to look the way she looks. I know everything I need to know just from the touch of my fingers on her flawlessly picturesque body.

Whew.

I can go on and on describing my hypothetical experience of being in bed with a female bodybuilder. But this will do for now.

Guys and gals who love female bodybuilders have a wide array of FBB-centered fantasies. This ranges from desiring to have a female bodybuilder wrap her strong thick legs around your neck and squeeze to feeling up her broad back while she flexes her arms right in front of you. Some fantasies are violent in nature, others are peaceful. Some of the more violence-oriented fantasies hug that fine line between “normal” and “criminal” – although who are we to judge?

A nice look for Cindy Landolt.

FBB fandom can take many forms, yet there is one common element that cannot be ignored: the indescribable feeling that female bodybuilders conjure up inside of us. They make our entire body shake. They capture our attention like nothing else can. They make us do irrational things. We are attracted to them in ways that we are not attracted to in more “conventional” people. While seeing a pretty girl wearing a skimpy bikini at the beach can make our heart skip a beat, watching a video of a beautiful female bodybuilder flex her huge muscles wearing sexy lingerie can make our heart stop beating entirely.

See the difference?

How we prefer to experience this “indescribable feeling” differs from person to person. Some of us fantasize about – or actually get to experience if you have the resources and good fortune of a real-life FBB travelling to your area – being pinned to the ground by a powerful woman. Others of us are rougher around the edges and prefer her to pour hot candle wax on our chests, spit in our faces, and call us demeaning names as we demand further insults to be hurled our way. But there exists another cohort of female muscle lovers who prefer an experience that’s more quiet, tranquil, peaceful, low-key, measured, and intimate.

You can probably guess which group yours truly belongs in.

This is not to say that people who prefer to experience the, uh, “bumpier” side of female bodybuilding fandom are wrong. Far from it. It’s just that some of us aren’t as enamored with power dynamics, sexual politics, and muscle fetishization as others are. That’s it. Nobody is “right” or “wrong” when it comes to fantasizing or actually playing out their FBB-related desires. Unless someone gets hurt unintentionally, of course.

Personally, the few times per year that I get to meet a real-life female bodybuilder for a muscle worship session tend to be as low-key as you might imagine. No wrestling, no submission, no hint of competition. Just her and me. In bed. We talk. We share stories. I compliment her. She grins and giggles. I touch her magnificent body. Goosebumps flare up across my arm. My fingers feel like they could melt after caressing her warm, coarse skin. It’s quiet. The room is dimly lit. There’s music playing softly in the background. The window is open, allowing the bright moonlight to freely fill the room. Whatever happens stays between us. She’s as beautiful as you can possibly imagine, except more so. My heart can burst out of my chest at any moment. Luckily, it does not.

I enjoy everything about a female bodybuilder, not just her muscles. I enjoy her personal journey. Learning about her hopes, dreams, aspirations, fears, annoyances, and joys. I marvel at her self-confidence and unwavering belief in her ability to achieve anything she wants. I enjoy her femininity. I enjoy her power. I enjoy her calmness. I enjoy giving her pleasure (if she lets me). I enjoy receiving pleasure from her (once again, if she feels like doing so). In short, I enjoy everything about the experience of meeting her. Everything.

As gorgeous as can be, the lovely Sheronica Sade Henton.

It’s difficult, though not impossible, to experience those same things when you’re pinned to the ground, gasping for air. I know she’s strong. I don’t need her to demonstrate it for me. But that’s just how I prefer to experience her full power. I certainly don’t speak for everyone. Nor would I want to.

To me, female muscle is highly erotic. Erotic in a way that almost transcends the meaning of the word. It’s not just sexually arousing or exciting. It’s emotionally moving, almost in a quasi-spiritual way. I feel like I’m in the presence of Greatness. Not exactly a goddess, but something very close to that. It’s difficult to describe, but those who do understand what I’m talking about are no doubt nodding their heads in agreement right now.

There is no right or wrong way to pass your time with an FBB, considering everything is consensual and what is previously agreed upon to happen actually happens. For me personally, I love experiences where I can show my appreciation for an FBB’s hard work in the most respectful yet erotic way possible. The feeling of her rock hard muscles against my fingers is indescribably sexy. I’ve tried to explain it, but have failed over and over again. It’s truly something that the English language – or any language, for that matter – cannot justifiably articulate.

May I sit next to Debi Laszewski?

In a way, what I enjoy doing (and fantasizing about) is no different than what a “normal” couple would do when they’re getting intimate with each other. They lie in bed together. They flirt. They exchange needful glances. They chat. They touch each other. They disrobe. They engage in foreplay. They…make love.

I’ve never made love to a female bodybuilder, but that isn’t a precondition to talking about what I’m talking about. What I’m talking about is the beautiful feeling of sharing time and space with a female bodybuilder in the privacy of a hotel room away from the eyes of anyone else but ourselves. No one has to witness what we do together. It’s just her and me. That’s it. That’s all there needs to be.

Privacy is a wonderful thing. Even more so when you’re willing and eager to become vulnerable with the other person.

Muscle worship is very personal. Extremely personal. It’s fun, of course, but fun in an intimate kind of way. You don’t become “friends” with her, but you certainly share a special connection that will never leave that rented room. There’s something poetically beautiful about that: a private period of time between two people where one party expresses appreciation for the physical beauty of the other party – in which cell phones, modern technology, and eyewitnesses are nowhere to be seen. That’s the way it should be.

Wendy Fortino looking jaw-dropping.

Being in bed with a female bodybuilder is like kneeling before the altar and praying before whatever god you worship. It’s deeply personal, yet surreal in its mundanity. The anticipation of being able to meet her is palpable. Your palms are sweaty. Your heart rate is through the roof. You count down the hours till you get to meet her with the same anticipation of a small child waiting for Santa to deliver your presents. When you do get to knock on her door and walk into her room, you need to pinch yourself in order to discover whether or not you’re actually living in a realistic dream. Thankfully, you are not.

And when you do eventually get into bed with her, you feel like pausing and saying a brief prayer to the Heavens. You want to thank the stars for granting you this privileged moment. This moment may happen to you again, or it may not. Regardless, you want to make the most of it. And you do. You do in fact make the most of it by staring intently into her eyes, whispering melodic compliments into her ear, and caressing her muscular body with the careful prudence of an artist painting a canvas.

What you do is simple. You lie next to her and enjoy each other’s company in complete silence. Not a care in the world. The outside world means nothing right now. You’re like two old lovers rediscovering your shared passion. Nothing about this picture would seem out of the ordinary in any bedroom in the world.

Except for the romantically whimsical image of a man sharing an intimate moment with a woman. A woman who happens to have enormous biceps.

Looking Up to Her

An unknown friend in a position to look up to Roxie Rain.

The heat emanating from her coarse, rough skin is palpable. I’ve never experienced skin so abrasive, yet so beautiful to the touch. Tonight is a night of many unique experiences.

Shannon stands tall in her translucent grey high heels, her forest green eyes hovering just above my own. Her eyelashes flutter with musical synchronicity. Right now, her wavy dark brown hair sits right above her broad shoulders, looking as if it’s set just right for this moment. I struggle to find the words to speak to her with, a burden that seems insignificant for the time being.

“Have you ever touched a woman like me before?” she coyly asks.

I nod my head “no,” but realize she wouldn’t be able to see that. So I attempt to make a pithy verbal reply to her inquiry.

“No, I have not. Definitely not. You’re the first, for sure.”

She murmurs something unintelligible back to me, but it’s probably just a slight laugh. She knows she has all the power right now; she knows damn well that I am like a helpless child, with normal thoughts and conversational abilities thrown out the proverbial window. My fingers move down to her wide back, every striation of muscle sending shivers down my spine. Her thick mounds of flesh seem piled on like bricks in a mansion. To reiterate, I’ve never met, seen, or touched a woman quite like Shannon before.

But what a ride it has been thus far.

“Wow. You’re so damn beautiful, Shannon,” I say. “But you already know that, I’m sure.”

Shannon unexpectedly turns around, her piercing eyes staring straight into my weak soul. She rubs her hands down her bare breasts, completely aware of their remarkably small size. Is she projecting her insecurities to me? Or pointing out her flaws (as if she has any)? Or is she attempting to turn herself on? I can only guess.

Next, she hooks her fingers around the sides of her bikini bottom and methodically pulls it down to the floor. Once it pools around her ankles, she kicks them off to the side. Neither of us have any clue where it lands. Not that we actually care.

Now she is completely nude.

“Thank you, Max. I appreciate the kind words,” Shannon begins. “Why don’t you show me how beautiful you think I am, instead of just saying it?”

With the grace of a world-class ballet dancer, Shannon leaps backwards onto the hotel bed and spreads her powerful legs as wide as they can go. She rests her head against the purple satin pillowcase. I think I know what she’s inviting me to do…so I oblige her invitation with very little humility.

I get down on my knees and lean my chest against the edge of the bed. My hands explore Shannon’s tree trunk legs, her calves the size of grapefruits, and her impressive six-pack abdomen. Shannon closes her eyes and moans as I touch every inch of her magnificent body. She’s an angel, a deity, a demi-goddess who is charitable enough to visit the Human World. For this, I am eternally grateful.

My eyes open wide when I see Shannon’s enormous clitoris. Hot, ultrasensitive, pulsing, and as erect as it can possibly be, my tongue laps its broad head with reckless abandon. Protruding out at least three inches in length, I wrap my lips around it and rhythmically fondle it with my entire mouth. Shannon groans in response, intense pleasure building up within her being.

The flawlessly beautiful Wendy Fortino.

She grabs the bedsheets and squeezes them with all her might. I would not be surprised if she accidentally rips the fabric. Her brute strength is enough to break or tear anything manmade. Loud moans of delight escape from her throat. I clutch her legs to stabilize myself. I continue to suck as meticulously as I can – wanting to bring her to the earthshattering orgasm that she deserves.

Eventually, Shannon does climax. Maybe just once. Or maybe twice. I cannot tell for sure.

“Oh fuck!” Shannon belts out.

She lifts her pelvis off the bed and writhes around involuntarily. Shock waves of orgasm pulsate throughout her body. I try to end on a gracious note by slowing down my oral actions and tickling her clit head with the tip of my tongue. I do not know if she enjoys this or even acknowledges the gesture.

Moments pass. Shannon is out of breath and smiling unashamedly.

“Alright kid. Now it’s your turn,” she announces.

Shannon playfully shoves me backward, forcing me to stumble onto my bare butt. She flexes her bulging biceps, then shows off her jaw-dropping triceps. Next, she squeezes her delts and looks to the ground to provide me with a more advantageous view. I appreciate every second of it. The final thing she does is turn toward the window and strike a side chest pose, demonstrating the results of all these years of bench pressing at the gym. She grins with delight at the conclusion of her little “show.”

She takes a few steps toward me. I am still on the floor, as vulnerable as can be.

There I am, looking up to her. She smiles. I can clearly see the deep grooves between her abs. I can see her shrunken breasts – and the chip on her shoulder that comes with it. She’s still wearing the high heels, which adds her to considerable height. She is all powerful. Omnipotent. Invincible. Indomitable. I am weak. I can do nothing to resist. Yet, why would I?

“I’m in a good mood right now. I know we’ve just met, but I have a special feeling about you, Max.” Shannon stands frozen in time, as still as a marble statue. “I rarely let guys do this the first time they see me, but like I just said, I’m feeling generous.”

She walks toward her suitcase, opens it, digs around it for a few moments, and takes out a condom wrapper. My heart flutters, knowing exactly what is about to transpire next.

Shannon tears it open and tosses it carelessly on top of the bedside credenza. She points to the bed. I immediately get up and sit down on it, as obedient as a pet dog. I remain silent. She does as well.

This is what the hotel balcony looks like.

Seductively, she approaches me and wraps her callused fingers around my manhood. It awakens, growing harder and longer in the palm of her hand. I take in a deep breath, afraid I might prematurely come right then and there. Thankfully, I do not embarrass myself in front of this Gorgeous Muscle Goddess. Eventually – and for what seems like an eternity – she smooths the condom down my erect penis and leans over to kiss me. Our lips meet. Her tongue wrestles with mine. Her strawberry-flavored chap stick invades my senses. Shannon then grasps my wrist and pulls me upward. I stand next to her, my eyes still just below hers. She leads me to the sliding glass door. My breathing stops. She unlocks it and escorts us outside. The chilly early spring air greets our nude bodies. It is still not quite dark yet, so at this moment complete strangers could be watching us if they were fortunate enough to stumble upon this glorious sight:

A lucky nude man accompanied by a beautiful nude muscular woman.

Shannon turns around, braces the metallic railing and sticks her bottom out toward me, offering it to her newfound mate. I place my cold hands against her hips. The tip of my penis brushes against her left butt cheek. I manage to take in a deep breath.

“Now fuck me,” she says in a much louder voice than I thought was prudent.

“Yes, ma’am.”

Without thinking too much about it, I seize her hips with more force and guide my penis inside her. She’s already wet, signaling her hospitality. I thrust in and out of her vagina, not saying a word and secretly hoping somebody would see us. After all, this is the most triumphant moment of my life…I would kill to have some kind of an audience to witness it. Is that too much to ask?

“Oh, that’s nice. That’s great. Just like that, Max…”

Out of the corner of my eye, I could have sworn I saw an older couple watching us from a nearby balcony. But I could be wrong. My vision has blurred and I can only concentrate on fucking her with the forcefulness that she requires. Shannon returns the favor by bouncing her pelvis up and down, adding to the sensations running through my manhood. I can only scream.

“Oh, fuck!”

Pleasure swells to its pinnacle…

…and arrives at a satisfying conclusion.

I come. Much longer than usual. I cannot imagine how much semen I’ve just ejaculated into this measly condom. More than twice than I usually do? Thrice? Who the fuck knows?

Finally, we come apart. Shannon stands up straight, kisses me one final time, picks me up with her burly arms, and takes me inside. I still do not know for sure if we had any spectators see our animalistic coupling just now. I suspect we did. But that’s just a baseless guess.

She drops me to the ground and my knees buckle. I fall feebly to the carpet. Now, I’m the one who’s out of breath. I peer up to see her. Once again, she’s standing over me. That smile has not left her pretty face. Her authority is tangible. It’s frightening how powerful she is right now and how weak I am. The contrast is jarring. Yet, in my weakness, I feel no shame. I feel ecstatic, in fact. I feel…masculine. The most masculine I’ve never felt in my life, ironically in the presence of a much bigger and stronger woman. I don’t feel any humiliation or emasculation. Quite the opposite.

It’s funny how paradoxical life can be at times, isn’t it?

Regardless of the real power dynamics actually going on in this room, there’s one constant that never ceases to exist. There I am, in the presence of the most beautiful creature I’ve ever been privileged to meet. She’s standing tall, I am on the floor.

Looking up to her.