Like Fine Wine, Muscular Women Get Sexier with Age

Very fine indeed is Debbie Bramwell-Washington.

Very fine indeed is Debbie Bramwell-Washington.

Age is just a number, as the old saying goes.

In fact, there are many things in our society that are measured in numbers that are fairly arbitrary. The number of times you’ve experienced the Earth rotating around the Sun is obviously one of them. There isn’t much of a difference between a person who’s 18 years old and another person who is a week shy of their 18th birthday. However, from a legal perspective (I live in the United States) they are leaps and bounds apart.

The 18-year-old is a legal adult and can enlist in the military, purchase cigarettes, and possess a firearm. The other person who is six or seven days away from turning 18 cannot legally do any of those things. In actuality, the latter individual may be more intellectually and emotionally mature than the 18-year-old adult, but that doesn’t matter as far as federal and state laws are concerned. From the perspective of governments, it’s not the “readiness” of the person wanting to do certain things that factors into these legal decisions. Realistically speaking, it’s nearly impossible to gage the “maturity” level of a person. It’s a heck of a lot easier to look at their ID card and see what year they were born.

So age does matter as far as the law goes. But what about normal interactions between human beings? We expect lovers to be in the same ballpark as far as age is concerned, but it’s not terribly unusual to see a married or dating couple be eight to ten years apart in age. The bigger the gap, the bigger the eyebrow is raised by onlookers, but that’s a whole other story.

We also judge one’s accomplishments in terms of their age. It’s impressive for a 12-year-old kid to be able to play the piano at the same level of a professional concern pianist. It’s possible, of course, but remarkable enough that we’d feel compelled to label this kid with terms like “prodigy” and “gifted.” A 45-year-old adult who can play the piano at a high level is still impressive, but less so because they’ve had way more years of practice and experience to hone their craft.

When it comes to sexual attraction, someone’s numerical age matters less than the appearance of their age. If we are someone who values youth and vitality, a 25 year-old and a 35-year-old could very well look the same age, assuming you don’t personally know either of them. Makeup, cosmetic surgery and freaky good genetics aside, physical attraction isn’t based upon knowing the specific age of the other person so much as it’s about enjoying the way they look.

Some of us tend to be attracted to those who are younger, others prefer an “older” person, and some of us are more adaptable. We tend to like people who are our age, which of course changes as the years go on.

How I dream of being that chair being straddled by Lora Ottenad.

How I dream of being that chair being straddled by Lora Ottenad.

For straight guys, the “older woman” thing is very much real and not nearly as taboo as it once was. We all have our limits, but there’s nothing unusual about being attracted to a woman who has more life experience under her belt. There’s no need to go into this topic in too much detail, but there is a fascinating angle when we’re dealing with muscular women.

One reason why lots of guys don’t care for older women is because, unfortunately, age tends to break down the human body. Nobody can remain sleek, perfectly curvy and smooth forever. Eventually, a woman’s breasts will start to sag. She may start to gain a few pounds. Her skin will start to wrinkle and lose its softness. This is not something that can be prevented or reversed, no matter how many thousands of dollars you pay a surgeon to operate on you. Mother Nature is unforgiving and time always wins at the end.

This is true for men. This is true for women. This is true for you and I. Oh well. There’s no use in complaining if it’s inevitable, right?

However, muscular women are a different sort of breed. A female bodybuilder who continues to lift at the gym and eat right well after she retires from the sport can still remain just as sexy as she was when she was in her 20s and 30s. And it’s not because muscles can hide a woman’s age. They don’t, but they miraculously can keep a woman’s body irresistibly desirable to guys who are willing to look at her. Aren’t muscles great?

It should also be pointed out that most of the biggest and brawniest female bodybuilders – although certainly not all – tend to be older as it is. Looking through past Ms. Olympia participants (may the Ms. O competition R.I.P.) one cannot help but notice most of the competitors being either in their 30s or 40s. What can explain this? Well, probably because of the simple fact it takes a whole lot of time to gain that much muscle mass.

While it certainly is possible for younger women in their 20s to develop an impressive level of muscularity (see Shannon Courtney before she retired from bodybuilding), for the most part it takes years and years of strategic dieting, lifting, supplementation, and preparation in order to get really big. A woman who takes up bodybuilding at the age of 20 isn’t going to go from looking like Taylor Swift and transform into Debi Laszewski by the time she turns 21. It doesn’t work that way. She may need a half a dozen years before she can even start to resemble Ms. Laszewski.

Betty Pariso putting women half her age to shame.

Betty Pariso putting women half her age to shame.

Or, perhaps she ends up not having the drive, inclination, or support systems necessary to ever look like Debi. Maybe she sets her sights on being a full-time bodybuilder at 20-years-old and gives up two or three years later because she’s broke, penniless, and without a steady income stream. No matter what your goals are, it’s difficult to attain them when you don’t know where your next paycheck is coming from.

But even if you do have what it takes to become a professional bodybuilder, it still takes an incredible amount of time to get to an elite level. “Elite” is a word we often throw around casually. But it shouldn’t be used like that. An elite bodybuilder is someone who belongs in a category with only eight or nine other individuals on planet Earth at the most. Even becoming a non-elite bodybuilder is still tough sledding. Attaining a figure similar to that of Emery Miller is still super impressive. However, even that takes lots of time and effort.

It’s definitely possible to achieve the “fit” or “athletic” look after a year or so, but that’s not necessarily what we’re talking about. We have nothing against fitness models, bikini competitors or “normal” women who love to go to the gym, but what really gets our hearts racing are the large female bodybuilders who can bend steel with their bare hands, crush a watermelon between their legs and carry another human being on their back effortlessly. That sort of body is something else entirely. That kind of body doesn’t just develop after running on the treadmill a few minutes per day. That requires a whole set of lifestyle changes that only a few select are willing to implement from start to finish. These are the kind of women we’re dealing with.

So, the “older woman” fetish is attached to female muscle fetishism almost by default. Many female bodybuilders tend to be older. Therefore, guys who love big female bodybuilders also, by extension, love older women.

But is it really that simple?

Perhaps not. In Female Muscle Growth fiction and art, the protagonists tend to be younger women who miraculously become big and buff as quickly as it takes to snap your fingers. Sometimes they’re high school girls. Other times they’re just very young adult women. Nevertheless, there exists a large segment of the female muscle fandom universe who lusts after younger women with big muscles.

However, there does exist a group of folks (myself included) who love strong women and older women at the same time. When I fantasize about making love to women like Denise Masino, Amber DeLuca or Yaxeni Oriquen-Garcia (all of them are in their late 40s), the fact they aren’t being mistaken for college co-eds is part of what makes them so desirable. Because these women are older, they’re also:

  • Wiser
  • Sexually skilled
  • Accomplished
  • Experienced in the highs and lows of life
  • Better connected to the human condition
  • Well-versed in what the world has to offer
  • More emotionally and intellectually refined

This isn’t to say that younger people (male or female) can’t also be these things, but years of experience walking on this Earth cannot be easily replicated or substituted. Life can be incredibly complex, with positives and negatives that can hit you from all angles. Perhaps this is why the “older woman” fetish exists. There’s something incredibly sexy about a woman who’s seen it all, experienced it all, and doesn’t have the time nor the inclination to fool around. She knows what she wants, doesn’t want, and will not apologize for either. That’s hot.

Nice view of Dayana Cadeau.

Nice view of Dayana Cadeau.

A woman with muscles is something else. Not only is she wiser and worldly, she’s also strong as hell and beautiful in ways that are indescribable. If Sigmund Freud were a participant in this discussion, he’d point out the fact that strong older women are a sexualized symbol (or surrogate) of our mothers. When we were little kids, we looked up to our moms as being physically and emotionally strong. We still may feel that way today as adults, but as children this was true both literally and figuratively. I’m no expert at Freudian psychology, but I’d wager a guess that there’s probably some element of truth at play here.

We may not consciously consider an older muscular woman to be a quasi-maternal figure in our lives, but deep inside the recesses of our brains we might make that connection. In our secret imaginations, we yearn for a strong older muscular woman to cradle us in her arms just as our moms did when we were young and helpless.

This may shed some light on the fetish of “lift and carry” sessions. Our moms held us in her arms when we were babies, so we desire for a female bodybuilder to do the same when we’re adults. I don’t think this explanation is definitive or all-encompassing, but there’s undeniably a rational argument to be made.

I’ve met female bodybuilders who have children that are my age or close to it. I’ve met female bodybuilders who may not have children at all but if they did, they’d be in my age range. Does this reality cross my mind when I’m actively engaging with them in a muscle worship session? Not really, but it does occur to me later after the appointment is over. How can it not?

Perhaps our female muscle fetishism is beneath the surface a longing for returning to our childhood. We crave nostalgia in a pseudo-sexual manner of a time when female authority figures (which can also include school teachers) ruled over our lives. Our fetishes would be totally understood by King Oedipus and Queen Jocasta, a son/mother combo from Greek mythology who ended up marrying and having four children with each other. Gross? You bet it is, but ancient mythology is rarely ever pleasant or polite to contemplate.

Without getting too deep into the weeds, let’s shift gears and talk about the physical attributes of an older muscular woman. She possesses one striking quality that “normal looking” women her age do not: tightness.

No, not the tightness of her vagina! Although, that could be the case. I’d ask you to get your mind out of the gutter, but mine is there as well so I’m in no position to scold you. Instead, I’m talking about the tightness and hardness located everywhere on her body. As a general rule, the older you get the softer and flabbier you also get. Your belly gets bigger. Your arms and breasts start to sag. Your skin gets wrinkled. Once again, it’s inevitably going to happen to all of us, regardless of who we are. Our hormones change. We don’t metabolize food like we used to. We’re less active and possess less energy. It stinks, but it is what it is.

Age doesn't seem to ever affect Yaxeni Oriquen.

Age doesn’t seem to ever affect Yaxeni Oriquen.

But, a muscular woman can delay or hide the effects of aging. Instead of feeling a sagging arm with loose skin, you feel bulging hardness that seems like can burst at any moment. An FBB’s muscularity allows her body to not only defy the inevitable breaking down caused by aging; it empowers her to surpass the perceptual limits of human achievement.

More than that, obviously a muscular woman doesn’t look any younger or older than a non-bodybuilder of the same age bracket. But we need to remember that youthfulness isn’t just defined by looks. It also includes personality, attitude, and one’s outlook on life. A female bodybuilder defies aging not because she physically looks younger, but because she’s refused to give in to the idea that impressive accomplishments is only monopolized by the young.

She’s strong. She’s vibrant. She’s driven. She’s motivated. She’s dynamic. She’s energetic. She’s goal-oriented. She refuses to accept failure as an outcome. She’s proud of her body. She’s permitted herself to remain sexually vivacious well after her non-muscular peers have gone past their peak. She doesn’t just extend her window of opportunity of being erotically desirable; she shatters it with a sledgehammer and believes it can last forever.

A female bodybuilder without question gets sexier with age. Not because a youthful woman with big muscles is somehow inferior to an older woman with big muscles, but because the older woman carries with her a level of wisdom, experience, and sex appeal that the younger woman cannot. Like the clichéd analogy of fine wine getting better with age, a newer bottle of wine still can taste pretty darn good with your juicy ribeye dinner. But if you wait long enough, that same bottle of wine will taste that much better after some proper aging.

Indeed, age is just a number. Youth has nothing to do with the number of birthday candles that’s on top of your cake. It has everything to do with what you choose to do with your life. That’s as simple as it gets. Undoubtedly, female bodybuilders live their lives to the fullest.

The Adventures of Ryan Takahashi: Chapter Thirteen – Dinner Party

The rest of my week flew by faster than a turkey on Thanksgiving morning. Tuesday turned to Wednesday, which turned to Thursday, which turned to Friday, which at last, after much eager waiting and anticipation, turned to Saturday.

Saturday! My date with Cindi North is finally here!

And a dinner date, no less. Very classy of us.

Cindi instructed me to bring a bottle of wine, so that is exactly what I will do. There’s a little wine and cheese shop about eight blocks away from my apartment. I visited it on Thursday after work. Believe it or not, I saw Monifa there buying a bottle of pinot noir and some fancy Swiss sharp white cheddar. Not only is she The Most Beautiful Woman in the World, Monifa has high-class taste.

I like her more and more.

I asked the employee working there what kind of wine he’d recommend (I like wine, but I don’t know much about it). He pointed to a moderately priced bottle of Beaujolais (it’s French, so it must be good!) sitting on a shelf behind him. I decided right then and there to go with that and immediately paid for it without looking at the other selections.

I hope my choice of something French will score me points. Perhaps I should have asked Monifa what kind of wine she likes. She seems to be a very urbane and cultured woman. This is definitely part of her charm. Ah, Monifa. She is SOOOOOOO gorgeous.

SOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO gorgeous!!!

But enough about Monifa! This weekend is all about Cindi North, The Most Muscular Woman in the World. She told me to arrive at her house at 5 p.m., so I decide to leave my apartment at 4:30. I think thirty minutes will be enough to get me there.

In anticipation of Cindi seeing me naked, I went to the gym bright and early today to work out my arms, chest and hamstrings. I threw in the random leg exercise for good measure. The entire time I was busting my butt at Wellford Fitness Center I kept thinking about Cindi and her goddess figure. If that’s not enough motivation to torture your muscles for two hours, I don’t know what will properly motivate you!

At about 4:54 I arrive and park right by Cindi’s front lawn. I still have no idea which car is hers. I see three cars parked on her side of the street. One is red, the other is white and the other is black. I’m going to guess that her car is the black one. I have no idea why. It’s just a random guess.

With my bottle of moderately priced Beaujolais in hand (alright, if you must know, it cost me $46 plus tax. It’s not too much, but that’s generally speaking more than what I’d normally pay for a bottle of fermented grape juice), I approach her house as if it were a divine temple of worship. I’d worship Cindi’s body, no doubt about it. No Greek god ever had a body that was half as spectacular as Miss North’s.

Before I could extend my arm to knock on her door, the door opens and I see Cindi standing there to greet me.

Dear God! Even though it’s only been a week since I last saw her, seeing her again brings a whole new set of chills down my spine. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, I will continue to be amazed of her large, muscular body. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to feasting my eyes upon it. Yowza!

“Ryan! You’re back! Come in!” Today she’s wearing gray sweatpants, a sporty t-shirt and a sweater. She looks like someone who just returned from the gym. I’m going to take a wild guess and say that’s exactly where she just came from.

“Hi Cindi, it’s good to see you after such a long week. I brought this.” I hand her the bottle of wine as I step into her house and take off my shoes. Taking off your shoes before entering into someone’s house is a very Japanese-y thing to do. I do it because I don’t want to get dirt on her carpet. It’s a pain in the rear to clean.

“Oooooh, it’s a French wine! And a Beaujolais. One of my favorites. Come in and make yourself at home. I’ve been cooking for the past hour and I think dinner is almost ready to eat.” Cindi takes the bottle of wine and goes back into the kitchen. After taking off my shoes I think about whether I should hang out in the living room or follow her into the kitchen. I decide to follow her to see what she’s preparing.

Wow, whatever it is, it smells really good!

I enter the kitchen and see Cindi mixing a salad together in a large green bowl. That salad must be taking the mixing of the century, judging from the size of her massive forearms.

“What are you making?”

“Something really healthy. I’ve cooked a vegan vegetable stew with a tossed arugula salad, quinoa and grilled asparagus. Just the type of good, nutritious food bodybuilders like us need to be eating,” she says with a silly grin.

“Ahem! Excuse me? Bodybuilders like us? You’re the only real bodybuilder here. I’m just a dude who works at a gym and exercises on a regular basis. I’m not even close to being in your league, sister.”

“I’m kidding, Ryan sweetie,” she says, kissing me on the cheek. “But to be honest with you, I consider everyone who works out their body on a regular basis to be a bodybuilder. Some are more…professional than others. And some are more accomplished than others, if that makes any sense.”

“Yeah, that makes sense,” I say, trying not to swoon from that kiss. “And I think you would definitely be put in the category of “more accomplished.” Did you work out today?”

“Yes I did. Today was legs. Never skip leg day!” Cindi puts down the salad bowl and opens the soup pot to check out the vegan vegetable soup. She stirs it slowly. My mouth proceeds to water.

“That’s right. Friends never let friends skip leg day.”

“The table is set and I think dinner is ready. There are two wine glasses on the counter. Grab them and I’ll join you in the dining room.”

“Alright.” I pick up the wine glasses and leave Cindi to tend to her last minute preparations. I set the glasses down at our respective spots (all the silverware and dishes are already in place) and take a seat. I can’t wait for dinner. It smells so delicious!

But mostly, I can’t wait for after dinner.

Yeah baby!

Cindi comes out of the kitchen with the salad bowl in one hand and a plate of grilled asparagus in the other.

“I’ll get the quinoa and I think we can then serve ourselves the soup.”

“I can’t wait. It smells divine.”

“Thanks. I hope it tastes divine as well. Uh, go ahead and serve yourself up.”

“Will do.” I take my soup bowl and follow her back into the kitchen.

Dinner was absolutely delicious, as expected. The soup was very good and had a rich aroma of various spices and flavors. The arugula salad made me almost want to become a vegan, but I still like meat. Speaking of which, our meal had absolutely no meat; just vegetables, starch and quinoa. Come to think of it, this might be the second or third time I’ve ever tasted quinoa.

Cindi and I talked for at least an hour about all sorts of subjects. Between sips of wine (which, I must say, was very delectable) we chatted about sports (BTW, Cindi can kick anybody’s butt at fantasy football), movies, observations about people at the gym (there are very specific groups of people at the gym who can all be neatly categorized. Trust us on this one), exercise in general and reminiscing on last week’s adventures.

“What really upsets me is when people sit on a bench and do nothing but talk on their cell phones, text or chat with their buddies. Other people want to use that, you know!”

“I totally agree!” Cindi exclaims. “That really pisses me off. Fortunately for me, I go to the gym when there’s hardly anybody there, so when idiots do show up I have other places to work out. But if it’s really busy, I’d just pick the guy up and toss him onto the streets.”

We both laugh. I can just imagine Cindi’s strong arms wrapping around some clueless dude and tossing him onto the side of the road. She wouldn’t do that, but she totally could.

“How do you feel about women who go to the gym and do nothing but run on the treadmill for 45 minutes and then leave?”

“You can do that in your neighborhood. Would it KILL you to pick up a weight every so often?” I can tell Cindi is a bit peeved that more women don’t weight train. She hates the stereotype of the ‘feeble, weak girl’ who can’t help herself. Cindi is anything but feeble and weak.

We laugh again.

As you can tell, we laugh a lot. A ton. Cindi is a very funny person. Who would’ve thought a massive, 6’4” female bodybuilder would also be hilarious in addition to possessing superhuman strength?

“Once again, I am so sorry I laughed at you after you came all over my face. I really didn’t mean to insult you. It was, like, the funniest thing that’s happened to me in a long time.”

“Hey, no problem. I laughed about it too on the drive home. Don’t worry about it.”

“I have a good idea. How about instead of talking about the past, why don’t we create a whole new set of memories that will be a lot more positive?”

My right eyebrow raises up.

“Ah, new memories you say? What are you trying to say?” I hope she likes teasing. I think she does.

“Thank you for joining me for dinner. But we all know the real reason why you’re here.”

Suddenly, a weird feeling came over me. Yes, I am here to have sex with Cindi, but that’s not exactly the whole picture. Something about the way she said that made me feel strangely uncomfortable.

“True, but let’s hold on a minute. Aren’t we also here to become friends? I don’t mean best friends or the kind of friends who hang out all the time. I also don’t mean friends with benefits. But I’m not here just for meaningless sex.”

Cindi’s face became serious.

“Look, I didn’t mean it like that. Not at all. I’m not implying our relationship is like that of a prostitute and her john. That’s not us. And I’m not ruling out the possibility of a friendship between us. I think we have very good chemistry together. Look at the time. It’s been almost an hour after we began eating and it feels like it’s only been ten minutes.”

“Wow. It has been an hour. Time flies when you’re having fun.”

There is a long silence. We stare at each other. This evening hasn’t had too many awkward silences. This is probably our first.

“I’m serious, Ryan. This relationship isn’t just about sex.”

“I know. I want to become friends.”

“I think we’ve become that already.”

“Really? But we’ve known each other for only a week. Is that enough time to become friends?”

“Sure it is. A friendship can start instantaneously and last a lifetime. That’s the beauty of friendships, no matter how unconventional.”

“Unconventional?”

“Yes. How many female bodybuilders are you friends with?”

“Only one. You.”

“And to be honest, I don’t have too many 23-year-old Japanese-American friends. You’re my only one.”

“I’m glad to be your only one.”

Cindi smiles. When she smiles it reveals the deep wrinkles around her eyes and age lines across her face. But I don’t see that as distracting from her beauty.

Yes, you heard me. I think Cindi’s beautiful.

Very beautiful.

“So….our friendship isn’t just based on sex?”

“That’s right. Not just sex.”

“But, we…uh, haven’t actually had sex yet.”

Pause.

A wicked grin flashes across her face. Almost instantaneously, Cindi rises from her chair, walks over to my side of the table, picks me up with her strong arms like a baby, kisses me passionately on the lips and carries me upstairs to her bedroom.

“Let’s change that.”